


Electric Sickness

by UnitedPen



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Angst, Electrocution, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 18:18:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4797512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnitedPen/pseuds/UnitedPen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya and Napoleon deal with the aftermath of Napoleon's torture at the hands of Uncle Rudi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Electric Sickness

The first time it happened, Illya had no idea what caused it.

They had been trying to shut off a generator, a pretty standard operation for their fourth mission. Neither Napoleon nor Illya could hack the code required for the panel, so they had resorted to unplugging the whole machine.

The plug did not slide out as smoothly as Illya had wanted. It created quite a few sparks, but no fire. The two men were plunged into total darkness until Illya produced a torch, expecting to see Napoleon staring at him.

Instead, Napoleon was crouched low to the ground, eyes staring at the plug. His face was pale under the light Illya shone at him and his arms were wrapped tightly around his torso.

“We have to move,” Illya said, unable to comprehend Napoleon’s actions.

“They will come see what is happening. Cowboy, come on!”

There was still no response from Napoleon, but Illya could feel anger coursing through his veins as he heard footsteps above them. They would be lucky not to run into a group of guards on their way out. He couldn’t spend anymore time trying to talk to his partner.

With a pounding in his ears, Illya yanked Napoleon up from the ground and hurled him toward the exit, pushing him to go faster. At least Napoleon was moving, Illya thought, as they finally made it outside and to their vehicle. Unfortunately, Illya’s intense anger meant that he failed to see the sweat pouring down Napoleon’s face or hear his unnatural breaths.

By the time they reached the hotel, close to the Seine, Illya’s edge had worn off from the driving and he slowly loosened his group on the steering wheel, ready to talk to Napoleon before they saw Gaby. His plan was foiled though, as he saw Napoleon had slipped away.

The familiar feeling in his chest gave way to the tapping before Illya practically tore the car door open, racing up to Napoleon’s suite to pound on the door.

“You answer door now!”

“I don’t think he’s going to answer.”

A voice startled Illya before he could kick in the door. It was Gaby, who was already pulling on his arm to take him back to their own room.

“You’re making way too much noise. Just let him be,” Gaby said, collapsing on the couch and resisting the urge to roll her eyes as she watched Illya stride across the carpet, back-and-forth, back-and-forth.

Whatever those two had fought about this time, Gaby was sure it was not worth waking up the whole hotel for, especially since Illya and Gaby were supposed to be two kindhearted but crafty tourists who always made friends with everyone rich enough to hold multiple dinner parties during their romantic getaways.

Illya seemed far removed from that role now, Tables and chairs were still in upright positions, but Gaby knew it was only a matter of time before that changed.

“You did not see Cowboy,” Illya growled.

“He froze. We could been caught.”

* * *

 

They didn’t talk about that night or rather Napoleon avoided the subject enough until Illya couldn’t even look at him without a mix of exasperation and rage.

Gaby was slightly easier to placate after she approached Napoleon complaining that Illya would not shut up about the “failed” generator task.

With his general suaveness and smile, Napoleon explained that he had been feeling slightly tired with the endless string of missions and the electricity had thrown him off guard. This led Gaby to confide in Napoleon that she had been looking forward to a break as well, but kept going for the team.

She was a natural spy, a great fit for U.N.C.L.E., and Napoleon felt bad about lying. But he couldn’t tell Gaby and Illya, especially Illya, what had happened, how for a moment after that spark, he felt like he was back in the room with Uncle Rudi. How his heart started racing as he anticipated the pain that wouldn’t come.

He was grateful Illya pulled him out, but he was just so ashamed of his reaction. None of his previous C.I.A. missions had left him feeling so out of sorts. A small part of him was also wondering how much Illya judged him after the generator incident.

Napoleon tried to forget about it over the next couple weeks. While this seemed logical, tricking his brain into overlooking his panic was actually very difficult.

The night of the first incident was filled with nightmares that left Napoleon shaking in his bed, which turned into that damned chair every time he closed his eyes. Other nights, the photos Uncle Rudi had been planning appeared in every colour or Napoleon felt blood gushing out of his nose until he woke up screaming.

Thankfully, Gaby and Illya were often paired together during their next missions and didn’t see Napoleon fall apart at the seams.

Until all three of them were captured.

* * *

 

Their target was a bit of an idiot. He was a former Nazi who was looking to regain the glory and riches of Hitler’s party by figuring out nuclear secrets and creating a world government with blackmail. 

Earlier in the night, he had believed Gaby and Napoleon were related to the Kennedys and Illya was a defector.

Now, Illya's and Gaby’s snooping around in the Nazi’s hotel room had them tied to two chairs by two cronies.

While he had charmed the Nazi’s sister, being friends with meddlers meant Napoleon was occupying a third chair. The Nazi soldier and his associates were now out looking for a larger team to “beat the secrets out of them.”

“Can either of you loosen the rope?” Gaby whispered. All three team members were close together, facing each other. Probably to watch each other’s pain, Gaby thought. The Nazi didn’t realize they’d be long gone before his team got back.

“No, tight,” Illya answered. “Solo’s is looser.”

Napoleon nodded, aware that his particular crony had forgotten a couple of loops. He moved his wrists up and down, feeling the coarseness brush against his skin.

“Hurry!”

“I am!” Napoleon answered sharply, just as his one wrist strained against one side to allow the other hand room to slip by.

_A beige strap was tight against his wrist as the foot pedal went down._

“No,” Napoleon thought. “No, not now.”

_He could feel it across his forehead too, but his wrists were burning as he tried desperately to move away._

“Breathe,” one thought broke through the fog. “Come on, they need you.”

_The eyes, the eyes were staring as his body jolted._

“Hurry up, Napoleon, please!” Gaby’s voice was desperate as the door rattled. Illya was oddly silent, but Napoleon tried to anchor himself with their faces.

When the two blue eyes met, one desperate, one stoic, the rope finally broke. Napoleon rushed over and set his fellow spies free before they made a hasty exit down the fire escape.

They finally caught their breath in a dark alley, hidden by shadows.

“Napoleon, are you….” Gaby started before being cut off by Illya.

“Why second time?” Illya asked, tapping his fingers as he crossed his arms. “What happened?”’

Biting his lip, Napoleon managed to look anywhere but at his partners.

“Just talk to us, Napoleon,” Gaby tried a gentler approach.

“It’s nothing,” Napoleon said, attempting a smirk.

“It’s not nothing,” Gaby continued. “We can help if you just tell us what scared you about the rope.”

“I wouldn’t need help if you had been quieter moving around his hotel room!” Napoleon snapped. He felt flustered and feverish. He just didn’t know how to answer the questions, but Illya seemed to have an idea as he grabbed Napoleon’s arm.

“Apologize,” Illya growled

“I’m sorry, Gaby,” Napoleon muttered, running his free hand through the curls that had come loose when they were captured. “I really am.”

Illya still gripped his arm like a vice.

“What is wrong with you, Cowboy? Why are you acting like coward?”

The question left Illya with empty hands as Napoleon fled under the streetlights.

“Fine, run!” Illya yelled, kicking the brick wall in anger, over and over.

“Well, that went well,” Gaby said brightly, breaking up Illya’s trance . “At least he admitted he needed help.”

“This is no joke,”

“I know,” Gaby sighed, taking her friend's arm.

“I don’t get why he is acting in this way,” Illya stated, as they finally walked back to their hotel.

“I know,” Gaby said again. “I’ve seen you these past couple of weeks since you said he first froze. You lie awake thinking about it. Or you write about it, analyzing every single step.”

They had finally reached the front steps.

“You read my notes,” Illya said.

“I think all the pieces are there,” Gaby replied. “Just put them together and go find him.”

Illya stared into her brown eyes, thanking her without words. Not for the first time, he found himself wishing those feelings in Italy had developed into something more. It would be so easy to love her, but instead his mind was consumed with dark brown hair and an easy smile, which was slowly disappearing.

He had to find him quickly.

* * *

Napoleon couldn’t escape.

He had paced and paced before finding a bench where he could sit. He thought being motionless would help, but the trees kept morphing into tools and wires.

_I’m in an old-fashioned mood._

He was going crazy now. He could hear Uncle Rudi’s voice getting louder and could smell the smoke engulfing him. Maybe it was better to just let it take him down.

* * *

Either Cowboy kept forgetting he worked with a KGB agent or he left the tracking devices in his shoes on purpose, Illya mused, as he made it to the park five minutes after depositing Gaby.

The sight made him frown. His Cowboy (and when did that happen?) appeared to be asleep on a bench while smoke drifted by from a nearby (probably illegal) bonfire. 

Well, the teenagers weren’t his problem, but Illya still wrinkled his nose at the thick smell. Whatever they were burning was almost as bad as when Uncle Rudi….

Now it was Illya’s turn to freeze. Uncle Rudi. That was it. He thought back to his notes listing: spark, straps, and fear. Especially fear. It was something he saw in Napoleon’s eyes during the incidents and one of the intense emotions he felt when he saw Napoleon trapped in the torture chair.

Could he really expect anyone to come out of that unscathed? Illya probably would have trashed Uncle Rudi’s “lab” instead of just leaving the body.

“Cowboy, wake now,” Illya shook Napoleon after hurrying to the bench.

Tired eyes looked up at him.

“My shoes again.”

Illya nodded.

“We’re going back to hotel now,” Instead of grabbing the arm this time, Illya waited until Napoleon sat up then grabbed his hand.

“If that’s ok?” Illya added a little hesitantly.

“It’s fine,” Napoleon looked bewildered, glancing between their joined hands and Illya’s concerned face.

The two walked at a moderate pace, Napoleon dragging his feet a little as he felt the sleepless nights and stress of the mission catch up with him. He could have cheered when they reached the room but instead dove face first onto one of the beds 

He would have fallen asleep if he hadn’t felt the weight of Illya’s body sink next to him.

“Cowboy?”

The voice was still hesitant and Napoleon knew Illya deserved to at least see his face, so he rolled over.

“Yes, Peril?”

“It’s Rudi?”

Napoleon sucked in a breath and Illya wished he had some of the man’s subtlety but decided to press on to get the answers now.

“That’s why….that’s why missions keep having problems.”

Illya had never looked so sincere and it struck Napoleon how serious Illya’s worry was. Unknown warmth swept over Napoleon. No one had cared about him this deeply in a long time.

“Yes.” It felt like he was drowning under all this pain and then suddenly, the water just all flowed out of him. 

“I keep…seeing myself back in that room and it’s everything. I dream about the straps, the smoke, the bleeding, I can’t will it away.”

Illya stared ahead, twitching a little as he kept his tapping in check. The last thing his partner needed was a meltdown, but if Illya fantasized about bringing Rudi back from the dead so he could snap his neck, that was his own business.

“Why didn’t you tell me or Gaby?”

“I’m supposed to…, “Napoleon’s voice finally cracked.  

“I’m supposed to be one of the best C.I.A. agents. I’m supposed to be strong. Not let the job affect me. And I was afraid you would see me as weak and I couldn’t…

He was rambling and Illya was absolutely lost. Fights he could deal with. Conversations were touch and go. But tears, tears and sorrow were not a KGB agent’s area of expertise.

So he did what he believed could calm a person down. He gently grabbed Cowboy’s face and pecked his lips, silencing the desperate words before quickly pulling away.

“I’m sorry,” Illya muttered, although it had felt good. Now it was his turn to stare at the bedspread.

“For that and torture.”

“Don’t be. How about you just stay?"

There was that full smirk Illya had missed.

* * *

“He seems better,” Gaby commented, during lunch in London. Illya had stayed at the café to drink tea with her, while Napoleon went to check out a suit at a nearby shop.

Of course, Illya was secretly staring into the store, making sure Napoleon wasn’t flirting with the attendants, but he was satisfied the man was focused on the clothes.

U.N.C.L.E. had finally received a vacation of sorts, which Illya would bet Napoleon’s soon-to-be expensive new suit had something to do with Gaby.

Both Illya and Napoleon had asked, during separate occasions, if she knew about Rudi. With tears in her eyes, she confirmed Waverly had told her and she was sorry she had let it happen. There was definitely misplaced guilt, but with Napoleon dealing with the aftermath of the torture (and in no mood to talk about it) and Illya still feeling a little betrayed, they decided together that if Gaby wanted to discuss the ordeal, she could come to them.

So far, she seemed to be dealing with her role in the Rudi situation on her own.

However, due to the guilt, Illya also had a feeling Gaby was behind Napoleon’s and Illya’s new shared flat, which Waverly had said was for “convenience sake when a call comes in,” but Illya couldn’t find it in himself to complain.

After their conversation and Napoleon’s breakdown (although neither man called it that), the two had fallen into an easier camaraderie, mingled with intimacy. With Illya’s help and many open windows, Napoleon was able to steam or fry food with ease.

They were also working on electricity and rope with more guarded projects.

“Cowboy is.”

Napoleon winked from across the street, making Illya groan and smile at the same time. More trouble was certainly headed their way, but Illya now knew he was at least capable of helping the man he cared for. Maybe even loved. 


End file.
